


Lights Out

by JTHM_Michi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Erica/Stiles is platonic, Gen, Reaction Fic - S2EP11, Written before the Season 2 finale aired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-15 00:32:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JTHM_Michi/pseuds/JTHM_Michi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reaction fic to Battlefield. The Argents took Stiles and Allison wonders about strength and power and realizes that maybe she isn’t as in control as she thinks. </p>
<p>Written from her POV and has since been jossed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights Out

**Author's Note:**

> Posting to AO3 because I can and wanted all my fic on here.

Sometimes, she feels as if she’s in a fog. Not the fog she was in after she rushed to the hospital, stomach clenching, and found she was too late. Too late to tell her mother how much she meant, how much she was loved, to have that conversation she had wanted when Lydia was over. No, this fog is calmer, less pain filled, and while sometimes she doesn’t like it much it’s so much easier.

 It feels like the grip of a bow, the swish of an arrow as its released. Aunt Kate’s hands on her shoulders, teaching her about strength and what it means to be _strong_. It feels like her father gazing at her with shinning eyes, pride pouring out of every pore on his body. It feels like a cute boy doing a double take as she walks by and staring and knowing she’s better than them.

 But sometimes it also feels like rage and helplessness. It feels like a letter too late, paper thin in her hands and words telling her everything she needed to know. It feels like “I’m sorry” whispered from Aunt Kate’s mouth before she was murdered. It feels like messages written on windows, always ignored because Scott’s not her boyfriend anymore.

 She figures the cons and pros even each other out in regards to her fog.

* * *

 Stiles is brought in with blood running down the side of his face and still in his lacrosse uniform.

 Of course, there are werewolves and a kanima on the loose and all Stiles and Scott are worried about is a lacrosse game. Typical.

 Erica – weak bitch that she is – snarls when she sees him, straining at her chains uselessly. She’s beyond words, has been since the third time they ran volts through her body. Allison seethes at her past self, to think that someone so weak ever had any kind of power over her…

 She pushes a button and Erica screams, sounding half human and half animal, and deeper in the compound Boyd howls in response. Pathetic.

 “Stop!” Stiles rasps, head shaking as if trying to clear it or perhaps get the sound of screams out of his ears.

 “Stop!” She mocks, leaning towards Stiles, making sure he can see her. He looks at her in horror and confusion, mouthing words that don’t make it out. “Don’t presume you can tell me what to do, Stiles. I’m not a little girl; I’ll do what I want. And if that includes sending volts through her till you tell me where I can find Derek Hale, then I’ll do it. And, in case you missed it, that was how you get to make this all stop. Tell me where to find Derek, Stiles, and all this stops.” She said catching Stiles’ chin and making sure he was looking at her.

 “Allison, what happened? This isn’t like you.” Stiles says, sounding hurt and so, so _weak_.

 “Allison, your father is looking for you. We’ll deal with this.” Ger- _Grandpa_ says as he comes down, walking heavily down the stairs, two other sets of footsteps following him.

 “I’ll attend to him in a minute. Stiles is about to tell us where Derek is.” She responds, barely holding her temper. How dare he interrupt her?

 “Well, in that case, I suppose it can wait. He just seems to be so…confused, lost lately. Ever since your mother was taken from us. Allison, you must remember that your father isn’t as strong as you – this wound cut him deeply.” Grandpa says and she knows he’s right. Knows that her father is soft – _“The code is sacred, Allison, we only kill when given no choice.”_ – and wonders if he may be too soft for this. To do what is called for.

 “In that case, you lot get information out of them. Stiles keeps track of everyone, he’ll know where to find Derek. He has a low tolerance for pain.” She says, turning away from Stiles – _he used to run messages back and forth and she trusted him, liked him_ – and going to find her father.

 She has so much to do now, she can afford to delegate, its what leaders do.

* * *

 Their compound is actually under a warehouse her family owns and but the tunnels connect to the main house. _Like the tunnels under the Hale house, once used to protect now for something different_ comes unbidden to her mind and she clenches her teeth, trying not to think about it. Her aunt made a mistake by trapping the human children in with the monsters before they burned, but maybe it was for the best. After all, when you run with wolves you accept the consequences of that choice.

  _Like you didn’t?_ Comes unbidden to her and she pushes the thought to the side, unwilling to think about it now. Her father is on the phone, listening with a grim expression and Allison calmly waits for him to hang up.

 “Sheriff Stilinski’s son went missing tonight. Jackson was found dead on the field and none of my men know where Isaac Lahey is – I don’t suppose that you know?” He turned, pinning her with a look that made her blood boil.

 “No, I don’t. But if I did, it’s my business. In case you missed the memo, the Argents are lead by me now, not you.”

 “You’re too young – ”

 “You just want me to be a little girl forever! To be clinging to you and needing you to rescue me! But I don’t need a knight in shining armor, _Chris_ , I can save myself! Protect myself and make my own decisions. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t be just as good a leader as you or grandfather!” She explodes, throwing his name at him because she can’t have him manipulating their relationship to try and dominate her.

 “Allison, I’ve never once said or even inferred that you can’t do this, you just need more experience, more training, _and you’re too young to lead by yourself_.” He shouts back at her and she jumps and hates herself for it.

 Before she can respond, two men are thrown bodily through the front door, wood splintering with a crack. Chris yanks her down, just as another body is thrown over their heads. Though, when it lads with a squelch she realizes that it’s really more of a piece of a body and not the whole thing.

 “Well, hello again, Allison, wasn’t it?” Peter Hale says from the doorway, smiling charmingly with blood running down his chin and splattered across his front. She feels the air leave her like a punch to the gut and remembers a hastily thrown cocktail and a near explosion of light and fire.

 “You’re dead,” Is all she can think to say. Peter laughs and it’s something so disturbing her whole body seems to shutter.

 “I got better. Now, enough of this chit-chat, I’m looking for something that you’ve taken and I want it back. Where is Stiles?” He asks, calm as can be.

 Chris – _her father, if they’re going to die she should call him her father, shouldn’t she?_ – shoots to his feet, gun in hand and firing quick as can be, yanking her up with him and shoving her towards the back of the house, a clear indicator that she is to run.

 Peter takes the shots to the chest, stomach, and she sees one rip apart his cheek before she turns and runs for the backdoor. If she runs fast enough she can get to the tunnels before Peter heals.

 Behind her, there is a thud and no more gunshots.

* * *

 She wrenches the door to the tunnels open when she gets there finally, wishing she had a better weapon then the knife she found. She needs her bow and arrows, but there’re sitting against the wall near where Erica is strapped in.

 Because she left them down there like a fucking _idiot_. And speaking of weak little girls, Erica is screaming but this time something is different and she hurries, spurned on by the noise.

 “There’s a pissed off once-dead Alpha coming down here and I need to know what’s going on!” She commands as she kicks a door inwards and comes upon the reason for Erica’s different screaming:

 The machine is on, volts charging through her, as she yanks at the one remaining restraint chaining her to the wall; she’s straining to get to Stiles who is still strapped down to the table, barely. He’s arching and screaming and there’s blood coming from his mouth and eyes and ears and Erica is drowning him out, and there’s so much blood.

 She throws up, turning away from the image and realizes that she’s crying. _What are you doing, what are they doing to him? What did they do?_

 Something snaps and Erica gives what can only be described as a victory screech and Allison is moving forward without thought – _she’ll attack Stiles, she’ll kill him, she’ll finish him_ – and swings the knife into Erica’s shoulder. The other girl throws herself back, crushing Allison against the floor, before vaulting back up and running to Stiles. She can only watch as Erica rips the straps holding him down, drawing more blood from his wrists and arms, and yanks something out of his mouth – _oh god, they were sending volts through him too_ – before scooping him up like a child would a doll.

 Erica’s eyes are practically glowing as she backs away with Stiles in her grip, growling and snarling. She has time to wonder where her grandfather is before Boyd appears, wolfed out and clearly expecting a fight. She struggles to sit up, but her elbow is on fire and refuses to hold her weight.

 Gunfire sounds and Boyd crumbled, growling, while Erica drops to the ground, throwing herself over Stiles. From the sound of it, her grandfather went to get some automatic weapons.

 “Allison, are you here?” Her grandfather calls out over the gunfire and Allison manages to indicate she is before trying to crawl away so as not to get hit by any ricochets. She makes it a little ways off before Boyd roars and charges towards her men, seeming to ignore the bullets completely. Erica grabs Stiles and howls, loud and obviously a cry for help, before taking off into the tunnels, vanishing quickly.

By the time Allison gets to her feet, Boyd is lying motionless on the floor and there is so much blood that she gags again.

 “What happened?” She rasps eventually.

 “Stilinski wouldn’t talk, so we tried to persuade him. Then, the boys started having trouble with this one here,” Gerard kicked Boyd in the side here, holding a hand out for something, “so we had to go help them out. The female must have broken out sometime when we were trying to subdue him. We went to get better weapons, knowing they wouldn’t be able to find their way out of here, not as injured as they are. Luckily, you were down here to make sure they were slowed down so we could catch them easier. So, here we are.” He finished and was handed a gleaming sword.

 “Wait, but I saw….What are you doing?”

 “My job, Allison. I’m disposing of a monster.” He responded and the sword cut threw the air, whistling. Boyd’s head rolled away, blood spurting, and Allison…

 Felt weak. 

* * *

 

The hunters and Grandfather went to find Erica and Stiles and here she sits, leaning against a wall and staring at Boyd’s decapitated body like it held the answers of the universe. The fog was creeping up on her and she wanted nothing more than to surrender to it, have it give her the strength she needed to get up and hunt down Derek Hale and kill him, along with anyone that got in her way.

 “Well, hello again, little puppet.” Peter Hale’s voice, low an calm, sounded from far too close for comfort and she shot to her feet, jarring her elbow and causing stars to dance across her vision briefly.

 “Oh, I’m not going to hurt you, child, calm down. My, you are more jumpy then I remember you being. Then again, we had only met briefly before. Speaking of which, I don’t think we were properly introduced, I’m Peter Hale. Your aunt murdered my entire family, bar two, and burned away my humanity. Nice to meet you, Allison Argent.” Peter spoke softly and smiled gently and everything about him seemed to be designed to be comforting, but the hair across her body was standing on end and she felt danger nearly suffocate her.

 “I don’t have Stiles.” She said, knowing she was about to die. She had no weapon on her, didn’t have time to grab her bow before Erica broke free – _not so weak now, is she?_ – and now she was defenseless.

 “I can see that for myself. No, my nephew’s pack is attending to Stiles now. But see, I was actually hoping to find you.” He said, moving forward slowly. She edged away from him step by step.

 “Me?”

 “Oh yes, you see I had a puppet but I’ve lost her now. Promised I would leave her alone during a time when words held so much strength. So I figured, why not just get another one? Stiles is too headstrong to be one and I thought you had too much of your wretched Aunt to be one, but I was obviously mistaken. Because you have turned into a brilliant puppet.” Peter finished, near whispering.

 “I’m not a puppet.”

 “That’s the best part of it all, really, you don’t even realize it. You think you’re making your own decisions and think you’re being _strong_. But you don’t even realize that there’s someone making you jump through the hoops, like a circus performer. Tell me, Allison, you want to see Derek dead but why? Because mommy died and you didn’t get to say goodbye?” He was mocking her and she wanted to punch his face off.

 A howl tore through the compound, louder then any she’s heard yet.

 “My problems with Derek are none of your business.” She said, holding to the fog around her, willing it to give her strength. To case away her fear. Peter smiled at her.

 And was suddenly much too close, gripping her arm in a vice grip and he was going to bite her or kill her and she reacted without thought, twisting away from him. Her injured arm popped out of his grip and she yelped as she turned and ran. Her arm didn’t burn so much as feel like dead weight, held close so as not to slow her down.

 Peter laughed behind her but she didn’t feel him give case.

* * *

By the time she made it to her hunters, the wolves and Stiles were long gone. Her grandfather wasn’t happy at all, especially when he looked at Allison’s arm and found it quite broken. Between her arm and the concussion her dad sustained from Peter Hale throwing him through a wall, they’d had to make a trip to the hospital.

 Her fog was gone and replacing it was Peter’s laugh and mocking voice, calling her a puppet. Her arm needed to be set and placed in a cast, so they put her under to set her bones and she dreamed.

 Dreamed of her mother and father, happy and laughing around the dinner table at one of her bad jokes. Dreamed of her aunt, teasing her about Scott. Dreamed of Scott’s hands on her stomach, tracing patterns and how he felt under her, so powerful but at her beck and call. Dreamed of Stiles laughing and then coughing up blood and calling her a monster. Dreamed of a man screaming as everything burned. Dreamed of a woman making a choice, a choice based on nothing.

 She woke up and Isaac was there, huddled in a chair to her left.

 “The doctors are keeping you here overnight, just to make sure there are no complications with the meds they put you on.” He said monotone, staring at a wall.

 “Are you here to kill me? To avenge Boyd?” She felt hallow inside. Hallowed out like the pumpkins her and Aunt Kate used to carve and then shoot full of arrows.

 “No.” He barked, jaw tight. “I’m here because Scott wanted to be, but couldn’t. There’s…Stiles needs him. I…” Isaac choked on nothing, tearing his eyes from the wall to glare at his hands. “I couldn’t handle all of it. And Derek’s – He’s – Not available. Erica is still unconscious and I wouldn’t trust her not to kill you, so here I am. Because Stiles needs Scott and Scott can’t be here.”

 “Stiles is alive?” Allison was glad of that.

 “Yeah, because of Deaton and Derek and there was magic but I didn’t understand a lot of it. He’s going to be fine. People still think he’s missing because we couldn’t take him to the hospital, they’d make him worse and – we just couldn’t. By tomorrow he should be able to walk around and not be in so much pain. It…it was close and it almost.” Isaac stopped talking, shooting to his feet.

 “I can’t be here.”

 And like that, he was gone. She didn’t go back to sleep, just lay there and thought and thought and thought.

 She thought about her mother and aunt; about the Hales and what Peter must have been like before the fire; she thought about letters and choices; about selfishness and love.

 And came upon no answers.


End file.
